Everywhere the night smelled of burning; smuts carried on the capricious wind were a constant reminder that the fire was not yet wholly extinguished in spite of the rainstorm that had drenched the mountains in the middle of the afternoon. Charred carcases of small animals-mice, hapless birds, voles, toads-littered the smoking ground; here and there a larger creature-a badger, a fox, a goat-lay blackened amid the remains of the woods.
Germanno's horses were nervous and the mules balky. They made their way through the early night, with the horizon behind them still tarnished with the last smudge of sunset. The animals moved in that precarious precision that was eloquent of fear; Germanno could feel their tension through the reins and the leads he held, and realized it would not be wise to force them to go much farther. "Just as well," he remarked to the night. Dawn was coming, and it was time for him to find shelter-assuming there was any to find. His quick survey of his surroundings was far from promising, and he wondered if he would be better off improvising a shelter in this desolate place or pressing on toward the faint line of sparks that lit the edge of the surviving trees. Although they were dying, there was always the chance that the flames would rise again, and that was an unwelcome prospect that Germanno feared as keenly as any living thing.
According to the rough map Radulphuz had provided him, Germanno should now be a short distance from the Usxa road that led up into the heart of Aragon and linked Idelfonzuz's kingdom with Zaraguza and Castile beyond. In the burned landscape, the road was indistinguishable from any other fairly flat stretch of ground, and the map was not specific enough to make finding his way possible; distances were estimated and geographical features were placed as much for design as accuracy on the vellum sheet. He crested a small rise and peered into the slight depression beyond, where the fire had stopped short of a copse of oak and pine. No red ember eyes winked at him from the branches, and the gust of wind carried no new ash on it. This was the first encouraging sight he had had since mid-day, and he was absurdly glad to see it. He clucked his blue roan forward, and tugged the other three animals after him.
Immediately before the stand of trees there was a small summer-low brook, sliding along as if hoping to avoid notice, almost silent, and giving little shine from between its banks. Insignificant as this band of water might be, it appeared to have been enough to halt the fading fire. As uncomfortable as running water made him, Germanno was relieved as he crossed it, pausing on the wooded side to allow his horses and mules to drink while he listened to the sounds of the forest behind them. At first he noticed little more than the continuing sound of rustling leaves and branches, but then he became aware of the chitterings of those creatures that had survived the fire, and sensed their barely subdued panic.
Without any transition, the woods were still, only the wind making noise. Something had come into the stand of trees that had troubled the creatures within it; the jack-mule raised his head, long ears working to pick up the shift in sound. Germanno's blue roan whuffled nervously.
Nothing happened for a long moment, and then a terrible scream, one that came from the deepest part of the man whose voice it was, cracked the silence. Immediately birds flew out of the safety of the trees and many animals rushed away from so mortal a sound. For a short while Germanno struggled with his horses and mules, all of which wanted to bolt. As the last of the cry shivered away, Germanno swung his horse around and went into the forest, drawing rein only when he heard shouting ahead of him.
"He is finally dead!" a voice crowed. "He can die!"
Another voice, less excited than the first, said, "You knew that. You chased him to kill him." Their dialect was so unfamiliar that it took Germanno a long moment to comprehend what he heard. "Make sure he is dead. His kind are harder to kill than most of the living."
"And we did not have to burn him," the first exclaimed. "The lance was enough."
"So it seems," the second agreed, but with less conviction.
"We should chop off his head!" the first said, nervous and thrilled at once. "That will make sure."
"We have nothing to do it with. I did not think to bring an axe, and neither did you." The second sounded disappointed. "If we run him through with the lance a few more times, that should be enough."
"I'll do it!" The first rushed through the underbrush and began to wrestle with the body, thrashing noisily as he strove to do his self-appointed task. "Let the Viexa Armoza howl for this."
"Make sure the backbone is broken. That keeps them from rising," said the second, coming after the first in a less hectic pace.
"I will," the first said, panting with his effort.
Germanno decided it was time to end this assault. He pulled his horse around and tugged the horse and mules after him as he rode into the wood, making sure to be loud enough to alert the two men to his coming, for by the sound of it they would not respond well to being surprised. The gloom of dusk deepened to enveloping darkness in the shelter of the trees, but Germanno continued on without much difficulty, using the urgent voices to guide him.
"Do we bury him?" The second voice was sharper now, and holding a hint of dread beneath its apparent control.
"No; he might recover if we do; they say the Viexa Armoza has been buried before, and risen," the first said breathlessly; he grunted with effort, then said, "There!" This was followed at once by a bludgeoning sound. "Got his spine that time. I heard it break, and I felt the bones give."
"And his hostel? What about his hostel? The fire did not reach more than its barn. Should we not destroy it before it is found empty?" the second asked, then stopped.
"Someone is coming."
The first cursed fulsomely, but the sound of his activities ceased. "Horses. Is it Moors?"
Deciding it would be better to answer than not, Germanno called out, "No, it is not Moors. I am a traveler bound for Aragon."
The two men whispered to each other, and were standing a bit apart from the man they had killed when Germanno rode into the small clearing.
One of the men was spattered with blood, his colobion torn from shoulder to waist, and his chaperon hanging by a frayed cord. He was breathing fast and his knuckles were skinned from fighting. Although custom forbade the men to look directly at one so clearly their superior, the two men stared directly at him, anger and fright making them bold. "You are a long way from the road," he said, and Germanno recognized his voice as the first he had heard.
"There was a fire on that road," Germanno said gently, almost apologetically. "And a battle, not so many hours ago."
"He has the right of that," said the second man, a fellow somewhat older than the first, wearing the same peasant garb as the first, but with a leather belt instead of a corded one, showing his relative prosperity. He coughed and spat, not taking his eyes from Germanno as if he expected treachery. "The soldiers came through our village two nights ago. They took all the geese and all the cheese."
The first nodded. He moved a little, as if to screen the body that lay beyond them, prone and battered, a lance leaning through him. "Soldiers take food and wine, they take our donkeys, and they use our women," he said resentfully but with wariness; he was having trouble understanding Germanno's speech. "It does not matter what side they fight on."
"And that unfortunate-" Germanno indicated the body without appearing overly curious-"what had he done? He does not appear to be a soldier, Moorish or Christian."
"He is not," said the first. "There are other dangerous men than soldiers abroad, good traveler," he said.
"Yes, and there would appear to be one less of them," Germanno said at his driest. "What did he do, to earn your enmity?"
"My what?" the first asked suspiciously.
"Your hatred," Germanno replied.
"He kept a hostel-he and his harlot-and preyed on those who were foolish enough to stop there," the second said smoothly, but with ill-concealed rancor. "The Moors killed her, and welcome. We have done for him. He and his kind are not like other men. He brought misfortune to those of us who live in this region, where the Viexa Armoza and her children drink of men."
"So when the battle came, you thought no one would bother with one body more or less?" Germanno suggested, saying nothing about the Viexa Armoza. "Or that the Moors could be blamed, since they killed his companion?"
The second man narrowed his eyes. "The same could be said of two bodies."
The first made a hissing sound and gestured to his comrade. "No. He is not-"
Germanno interrupted, achieving an amused smile. "Do I understand you: you think you could kill me?"
The first did his best to appear brave. "I have a lance."
"Which you must first pull from that man's body," Germanno pointed out.
"There are two of us," the first bragged.
"And I am on horseback, with swords and daggers," Germanno said, sounding bored. "Why should you threaten me? I have done nothing to you. This is useless. Listen to me before you regret your words." He looked at the two, seeing their terror behind their posturing; they knew they had gone too far. "What you have done to this man is of no importance to me. I tell you that I will say nothing of this; I have no reason to. My mission is too essential to be thwarted by this one incident. I am a courier for King Idelfonzuz. I carry his staff. You know that lends me the King's authority." He indicated where it hung in its scabbard. "If you have any regard for your King, go away from here at once, and forget you have seen me, as I shall forget I have seen you."
"So you say," the first blustered, but was stayed by the second.
"Why should a man of your rank bother himself over what we say or do not say?" He studied Germanno carefully.
"Exactly my point," Germanno agreed affably. "You have no reason to think I would trouble myself with the likes of you when I have the King's mandate to fulfill."
The first was growing apprehensive. "You could order us killed for what we have done although we have spared our people, and many travelers, from a hideous death. You do not know what we have known."
"Then you will have to let your own people decide what is to be done with you," Germanno said calmly. "Go on your way now, and do not return here."
"Why should we not?" The first man took a stance that showed he was ready to fight if he had to.
"Because there will be more soldiers coming. If you are found near the fighting, or near a body, the soldiers may well hold you to account, and they may not be as willing to listen as I am." He spoke with the ease and certainty of conviction. "Believe this."
The second man had taken his companion by the arm and was tugging of him. "This is the King's man. We must not stand between him and what he is sent to do."
"But-" The first pointed to the corpse.
"His back is broken. It will suffice," the second said, still pulling the other man away. "We are leaving," he announced to Germanno.
"Go in God's care," said Germanno, and remained where he was as the two men fled the clearing.
Germanno sat in the saddle until he was certain the two men were gone, then he got out of the saddle and went to look at the body, already anticipating what he would see. He dropped on one knee next to the dead man and wiped the dust and bits of leaves from the blood drying on his face, nodding grimly as he recognized the bruised features. "Olutiz," he said aloud. For an instant he recalled the dead man's birth, nearly five hundred years ago, and for that instant, Germanno felt as keen a pang of grief as if he had a true bond of blood with him. Then it passed and he sighed, wanting to leave Olutiz where he had fallen, but knowing he would have to return him to his mother.
Gathering up the body, he carried it to his second horse, and using the spare set of straps from his pack-saddles, he bound Olutiz to the horse, hoping as he did that they would prove sufficient to hold the dead man in place for the journey ahead. Then he remounted his horse and tugged the second horse and mules to follow him as he set off through the night, bound toward the high peaks where Ximene still held sway. As he went, he considered his mission for Idelfonzuz; he would resume it, he told himself, when Olutiz was finally home.
By morning Germanno had put the burning far behind him and was at the border region between Aragon and Barzelunya, climbing steadily into the mountains. He had seen a number of small, hidden shrines with offerings of chalices of blood; these indicated to him that he was still within Ximene's territory. A few of them had been destroyed, their cups overturned, their niches broken, which evinced the conflicts that raged in this border region. At dawn he had found an empty village, with tumbled walls and collapsed roofs on the houses. Choosing the safest of these to stall his animals, he searched out a cellar for himself and Olutiz's body, reminding himself that even the undead decay, and that he did not have much time to find Ximene before he would be forced to bury her son himself, and bring her only the sad news.
As he reclined on his earth-lined bedroll, he let his thoughts go in search of those of his blood, hoping as he did that he would not be distracted by other vampires-Ximene's vampires-that were in the region. Usually he applied this skill with animals, to gain a level of control over their activities, but now he let the extension of his mind roam in search of the long-denied blood-bond with Ximene. Finding the sense of her was as elusive as piecing together scraps of song borne from far away on the wind, but gradually he gained an impression of where she had gone. As he did, he recalled the two Moors who had guarded her, more than three centuries ago: what would protect her now? How many of her numbers had been ordered to ward her eyrie, for he had no doubts now she was high in the mountains, away from the wars and the sliding hills.
He wakened just before sunset, a bit disoriented by what he had done, and feeling depleted in a way his native earth could not wholly ameliorate; what he lacked was a connection to life, the intimacy that the living could provide to the undead. The only compensation for his reaction to his exercise was that he now knew where he had to go, and how he would be able to get there. Removing Olutiz's body from the cellar, he took the time to wrap it in a length of cloth before securing it to the blue roan Germanno had ridden the day before. When he had saddled the mules and loaded their pack-saddles, he groomed and saddled his horse for a long night of travel. He was in need of nourishment, but there was no relief for that possible, and he resigned himself to waiting for the opportunity to feed after he had discharged his self-appointed obligation; he was no stranger to such deprivations and he followed his habitual discipline now.
A band of erosion swathed the rising flank of the mountain where the trees had been cut down, and the night air whistled with a rising wind that was still hot from its passage over the high plateau to the west. Germanno let his horse pick his own pace along the edge of the landslide; he neither hurried nor checked the pace the blue roan set for the others, knowing that the horse understood their perils better than he did. Once the unstable shoulder was crossed, Germanno guided his animals along the crest of the mountain, going toward the next rise beyond that led toward one of three high passes in the mountains, for his dream-like explorations had shown him that Ximene had gone to the highest of the three passes and made a kind of fortress for herself in that harsh place.
Those villages he saw-those that were still inhabited-Germanno avoided, recalling the temper of the men who had killed Olutiz: they had known enough of the vampire's nature to be able to kill him without misstep, and so might many of the others in those small, walled towns. Being a stranger might give them sufficient cause to act against him. It was best to stay away from the villages, especially at night. A few isolated shepherds' huts stood near springs on the rising face of the mountains, each one empty; Germanno encountered no flocks: no goats, no sheep. There were four more shrines he discovered as he went up the mountain, all ruined and with no sign of attempts of repair. Had war devastated these high canyons and peaks so utterly, he wondered, or was this on account of something else?
Daybreak found Germanno well into the upper peaks, his animals laboring in the thin air that was warming rapidly now that the sun had risen, sending crimsons streamers up the sky from the horizon to mark its arrival. He was nearing the place he sought, aware that it was three or four leagues beyond the spring where he had halted to rest the horses and mules. It was tempting to press on, but his animals were tired and the way was becoming more elusive, the trails narrower. He checked Olutiz's body where it lay bound to the horse, unwrapping it enough to inspect the skin of his face and shoulders: the skin was dry and flaking as Egyptian paper, as if Olutiz had lain in the desert for months; Germanno knew that it would soon become brittle and would fall apart. For that reason alone, he finally chose to continue his journey into the morning, when the path could be more readily seen; he told himself that any guards Ximene had posted would surely be less alert when the sun was up. Wearily he continued on into the morning.
At mid-morning he passed an isolated monastery where he saw habited monks gathering wood and stacking it in a huge pyre. This aroused Germanno's curiosity, but he did not stop to ask about it; instead he resolved to come by the monastery after he had given Olutiz to his mother, to find out what the monks were intending to do. It would be safer then, without the body, and he had the King's staff to lend him a degree of palladium the monks would respect. Still, the sight of the pyre made him uneasy, and he was relieved when it was lost to view around the shoulder of the mountain.
The sun, hot and implacable, stood low in the west when Germanno finally reached the place he sought: the stone fortress was not large, but it was formidable, set in the very top of a canyon, perched on a ledge that made it unassailable from any direction but the sky; at this time of day it was nearly hidden in shadows. A path, cut out of the living rock and only wide enough for one horse, led up to the narrow gate. Germanno dismounted and retied the leads of his horse and mules, then, walking ahead of the four, led them along the precarious trail to the stout wooden gate.
There was a brass bell that hung near the gate, the sort that a traveler might find at many fortified sites in the Christian world. Germanno hesitated a moment, then rang it, hoping to hear a quick response. When none come, he rang again.
"Who is there?" a voice bellowed down from above, cross at being disturbed. He repeated the question in the language of the Moors.
"I bring something to Ximene," Germanno answered, speaking loudly enough to be heard down the canyon, then added, taking a risk, "Tell her Sanct' Germain has come."
"Who?" the watchman demanded.
"Sanct' Germain. She will know." He stood patiently, grateful for the long wedge of shadow cast by the brow of the crest above him, for his skin was already burned by the sun and he had no wish to make it worse.
"You will be admitted," the watchman yelled down a short while later.
"Thank you," Germanno said, loudly enough to be heard but no longer at herald's pitch.
There was a brief wait, then chain groaned and crumped as the gate was slowly opened, revealing a long, narrow courtyard in front of a bailey built into the mountain.
"Enter," said the guard who worked the spoked windlass; he was of mixed heritage, with satiny olive skin and dark, slightly curling hair, but having pale-green eyes. He pointed to the door at the front of the bailey. "Go there."
Germanno inclined his head slightly. "I will. Is there water and food for my animals?"
"I will tend to them as soon as I have closed the gate." The guard did not look directly at Germanno as he spoke.
"You are most generous, but I think it would be best if I kept them with me for now," Germanno told the guard in his most courteous manner; without waiting for the guard to speak, he led his horses and mules forward.
The door of the bailey stood open, and in its shadow, a woman in wine-red cote of Antioch velvet beneath a surcote of brocaded crimson samite stood, her luxurious hair bound up with bonds of gold and silver; her face was hardly changed from the last time Germanno had seen her, more than three centuries ago. She stepped gingerly into the light. "I told you never to come here again."
Germanno offered Ximene a profound reverence. "I have not come to flout you, Csimenae," he said, speaking the tongue she had spoken when they first met.
"Well, you must have some purpose, or you would not be here," she said sharply, frowning at him. In the uncompromising glare of the sun, her clothing was shown to be threadbare and slightly old-fashioned, but she was still a splendid figure, and she dominated the courtyard and the occupants of the fortress as surely as if she held a sceptre. She surely deserved being called Viexa Armoza-the beautiful old woman.
"Sadly, yes, I do." He pointed to his second horse with its silent, well-wrapped burden. "You may not have made peace between you, but I thought you would want him with you."
"Him?" Ximene repeated, continuing at once, "You have brought me an offering?"
"This is no offering, I fear," Germanno said as gently as he could.
"Then what is it?" Behind her defiance there was a trace of recognition, as if she understood what he had brought, but had not yet permitted herself to know it.
He could think of no way to soften the blow. "It is Aulutis," he said, using the name the boy had been given at birth.
She stared at Germanno as if he had uttered an incomprehensible sound. She blinked as if against the sunlight, then bit her lower lip. "He defied me," she said. "He should have been dragged to death by horses."
"He was killed by villagers, many leagues from here," Germanno said, his voice low. "They knew what to do: they used a lance to break-"
"Stop!" She raised her hand as she took a step toward the shrouded figure. "Goroloz! Herchambaut! To me!"
Two men-one in the garb of the Castilian court a century ago, and one in still older Frankish clothes-come out of the bailey, each with weapons drawn, and both ready to attack. They paused at a sign from Ximene, coming to her side and facing Germanno with determination.
"Stand away," Ximene ordered Germanno, watching as he led his mount with him to the side of the courtyard, leaving the mules and the second blue roan where they stood.
"Take the...body down," she said, pointing.
"Be careful with him," Germanno added. "He is fragile."
Goroloz and Harchambaut exchanged uneasy glances, but hastened to do as they were told. The roan side-stepped at the approach of these unfamiliar men, but at a word from Germanno, she stood while the body was taken down.
"He's very light," said Herchambaut, his Frankish accent strong.
"He has been dead a long time," Germanno said, loneliness coming over him like a cloud over the setting sun.
"Put him down," Ximene said, pointing to the step below the one on which she stood. "Gently."
The two guards obeyed, then stepped back to retreat to the shadow of the bailey door.
Ximene stood over the body for a short while, unmoving and silent. Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, she knelt down and pulled back the heavy cloth that concealed his face: the desiccated features were still recognizable, though they began to crumble as the waning light struck them. Ximene crossed her arms on her breast and wrawled her torment; the sound echoed, ululating from the stones until all the mountain rang with her grief. Her keening went on as she strove for the anodyne of weeping, but could not achieve it. When one of her men approached her, she motioned him away abruptly.
"But Viexa Armosa-" Goroloz protested in dismay.
"Stay back from me," she commanded him. "This is my son. I have done all for him, and now he is gone." Her mourning resumed, the sound of her voice more eerie than before.
The guard at the gate had secured it again, and now he stood as if bound, appalled by what he saw. He glanced at Germanno, and cried out, "He deceives you, Ximene. He killed the boy. He is to blame!" Taking a step forward, he reached for the short-sword that hung from his belt.
"Stay where you are," Ximene said, and the guard halted.
Herchambaut and Goroloz remained in the doorway, their weapons drawn once more; they hesitated as if trying to make up their minds. Finally Goroloz spoke. "Shall we kill him?"
At first Ximene did not respond-she continued to wail over the rapidly collapsing corpse of her son. Then she looked over at Germanno and said with tremendous fatigue, "No. No, he is not to blame. Leave him be." She rose, and without looking around, said in a flat voice, "He must be buried quickly, or there will he nothing left of him."
Goroloz moved first, coming out into the light, sheathing his sword. "Where shall we take him?"
Ximene shook her head slowly. "Wherever you can make a grave." She stared up into the sky without squinting. "It was for him. Even when he betrayed me, it was all for him."
Herchambaut came to help Goroloz, trying to contain as much of what remained of Olutiz in the cloth in which Germanno had wrapped him. "The stable, do you think?" Herchambaut suggested.
Ximene overheard and said, "Not the midden. Make him a proper grave."
The two uttered sounds of assent as they carried the nearly empty cloth away, leaving Ximene standing alone on the steps to her bailey.
Text of a letter from Fre Carloz of the Monastery of Santoz Ennati the Martyr near Usxa, to Idelfonzuz, King of Aragon and Navarre, at Toledom.
In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and in honor of our Santoz Ennati: Amen.
To the most excellent and illustrious Christian King, Idelfonzuz of Aragon and Navarre, and ruler of Castile and Leon in the name of Urraca, daughter of Adelfonzuz of Castile and Leon, and champion of Christian knights everywhere, the thankful greetings of Fre Carloz of Santoz Ennati the Martyr, in whose name I address you and rejoice with you.
Most estimable King, delight with us in the victory God has given to His most humble of servants, His monks and the peasants who are in our care, for today we have done that which seemed impossible but four days since. We are filled with gratitude to God, Who is the source of all wisdom and strength, both of which He has bestowed upon us in our darkest hour.
Know that the war which continues to rage in this disputed region has lately added to its perils a plague of night-demons and vampires who have come to the battlefields to drink the life's-blood of those who have fallen but not died. This horror has outraged all who have witnessed it, and caused many to lament for the lost souls of the prey of the vampires as well as to appeal to Heaven for succor, not only from the soldiers ravaging the land, but from the vampires that have followed in their steps, destroying all those they find. No peasant and no monk could be safe from such foes. In this predicament, when all hope seems lost, a misfortune pointed the way to our triumph: the Moors set fire to the woods where Christian forces were said to be lying in wait for them. This has happened before, but not in high summer; the Moors dread the fire as profoundly as Christians do. The fire sprang up quickly and raged through the forest for two days until a rainstorm ended it. Then it was revealed that most of the bodies were not those of Christian knights, but of night-demons and vampires. The bodies were little more than piles of ashes, like ancient husks with brittle sticks inside them.
We have now found a way to burn more of these baleful creatures and finally rid our region of them. We may burn them out as we would burn out all Godless things. We need not offer blood to them again, nor go abroad at night with fear in our souls. Had the Moors not done so shameful a thing to our good Christian soldiers, we would not have been given to see how this great enemy is to be destroyed. With renewed purpose, we have determined to lure as many of these vampires into the heart of the woods where they have been known to gather and that have not already been burned, and there we will surround them with flames, and let them perish as they have delighted in our deaths down the generations. Surely Santoz Ennati will aid us from his place among the blessed in Heaven.
Our one concern now is that this may destroy one of your forests, for Liege, the best stand of trees for our purpose is within the boundary region of Aragon. This is yours by right and lineage, and therefore we know you may well think such an act as this is treasonous, if you did not know the whole of the circumstances, of which this letter informs you. Your forests are protected by your right, and we may be held to account for any mishap that occurs there, not only as it pertains to the loss of the woods, but as an insult to your dignity. We intend no affront to you, Liege, in our efforts to rid the mountains of the vampires who have for so long preyed upon the peasants, clergy, merchants, and soldiers unlucky enough to cross their vicious paths. It is the one thing we can do that will spare us the depredations of these damned creatures, and if there must be a sacrifice to accomplish so worthy an end, then we are prepared to make it, and take the consequences of our act. But I beg you to forgive us for burning your forest. Do not condemn us for doing what must be done in order to save ourselves and your people from further decimations at the hands of these remorseless beings.
You have it within your power to demand our lives for what we are going to do, but I pray in the name of Santoz Ennati, who faced these same demons and earned himself a place at the Right Hand of God for his battle, that you will condone our righteous cause and the means we have employed to achieve them. I must tell you that other monasteries have agreed to stand with us in this, and find some way to end the long sovereignty the vampires have claimed in this region known for so long as Holy Blood. Your soldiers will soon fight in this very region; would you rather they fall to the Moors or to vampires? If they die from Moorish blows, they will achieve Heaven; if they are set upon by vampires, they will be consigned to Hell if they are not shriven. Think on this before you objurgate us for what we are about to do.
In the certainty that justice will prevail in our cause and that you, Liege, mindful of the sacrifice of Santoz Ennati, will pardon us for emulating him in his fight, I bless you and your reign, and sign myself
Your most deeply devoted subject, save for God Himself,
Fre Carloz
Santoz Ennati
near Usxa, by my own hand on this the 17th day of July, in the 1117th year of man's Salvation. Amen.